


Provocative

by florescent_dingo



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, M/M, Sean Prescott is a douchebag but what else is new, Sorry Not Sorry, Statutory Rape, Underage Drinking, especially not in this situation, i know a lot of people tag consent given under the influence as dub-con but let's be real people, implied past sexual abuse, that's not consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 19:56:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11215182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florescent_dingo/pseuds/florescent_dingo
Summary: He'd seen the same look in Jefferson's eyes directed at the work of legends like Robert Frank or Dorothea Lange; his heart bloomed at the thought that Jefferson saw something just as captivating in him, but his throat tightened in anticipation for the moment the man found some unforgivable flaw and lost interest.





	Provocative

**Author's Note:**

> After the release of the Before the Storm preview, my hatred for Sean Prescott came back full force for some reason. I've always been pretty disturbed by the theory that he may have been sexually abusing Nathan, mainly because I totally believe it. So this shit show is a product of me being sad about that and sad that Nathan was screwed over by both father figures in his life. It also may or may not end up being part of a larger work if I ever get around to writing more.
> 
> Nathan is 16 in this, what happens to him is definitely not healthy and is absolutely abuse on Jefferson's part, so please no one comment about it being hot or anything if this is what you're into.

This was no place for someone like Nathan to be letting his guard down so late into the night, but it was the only bar that he knew wouldn’t card him no matter how many drinks he ordered. He stood out like a neon billboard with his delicate features and clothes that screamed money. The contrast between him and the rough and down-to-earth atmosphere was almost comedic. Sleazy businessmen and burnt out blue-collared workers alike had stared him down from the moment he walked in; maybe they recognized him, maybe they didn’t need to know _who_ he was to know that he shouldn’t be there.

 

The constant eyes on the back of his head had bothered Nathan at first, but a handful of shots loosened him up quicker than any meds ever could; he didn’t even flinch when the counter shook slightly as an unfamiliar man slumped against it, almost too close for comfort, an impish smile visible underneath an unkempt mustache. He was like a sweaty, sunburned version of David White - from the cover of one of the vintage Playgirl magazines Nathan had stolen from his mother.

 

It vaguely occurred to Nathan that the man probably had beef with his father and had come over to pick a fight, but he couldn’t stop staring at that damn mustache long enough to actually process what his lips were saying.

 

He was staring at Nathan, eyebrows raised like he expected Nathan to say something. Apparently, the man was either overly patient or stupid, because the seconds kept ticking by in silence and he had still made no attempt to prompt Nathan further. Being stared down like that was getting annoying.

 

“What the fuck do you want?” Nathan asked, hoping he sounded sober enough to be intimidating. He wasn’t in the mood to be picked on just because his dad kept screwing people over.

 

The stranger just raised a bushy eyebrow and smoothed out his fucking mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Straight to the point, huh?” This time, he didn’t waste his time waiting for Nathan to answer. “Listen, now I know you ain’t old enough to be drinking that cocktail in front of ya. You and these bartenders could get in some pretty serious trouble if a cop were to walk in here.”

 

Nathan rolled his eyes, as if the pigs here would do shit if they caught him. “Thanks for the info, you can piss off now if that’s all you came over to tell me.”

 

“Hey, it’s not like that,” the man put a sweaty hand on Nathan’s arm, and Nathan felt queasy, “I’m tryin’ to help you out, here. It’s dangerous for you to be drinkin’ here, looking like that. I’ve got some whiskey and wine at my place - why don’tcha come with me, you can drink all you want without lookin’ over your shoulder.”

 

This guy really was stupid. And he probably thought he was so fucking smooth, too. Nathan would play along, though. At least it was something to take his mind off of the ache in his wrists where Sean had gripped him too tightly. “Yeah? You’re gonna let me drink all your good shit? Gonna take me home and get me wasted, that your plan?”

 

The man seemed caught off guard, maybe surprised his charade had been so transparent, maybe just surprised that Nathan had responded at all. His hand was still on Nathan’s arm, and Nathan was still fighting the urge to pull away from it.

 

Finally, the man laughed, even tightened his grip. “I think you’re already wasted, kid. You shouldn’t be out this late. Really, come home with me, I’ll make sure you don’t get yourself into trouble.”

 

This was pathetic, Nathan thought. The man was trying too hard, and Nathan frankly wasn’t in the mood to follow a complete stranger home. Especially not a stranger with such a horrible mustache. He finally swatted the man’s hand away from him with a dismissive, “Fuck off, perv, not interested,” and attempted to return to ignoring everyone while nursing his now-watery, room temperature drink.

 

Instead, a sweaty hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, putting pressure on the forming bruises and making Nathan jolt with the sudden pain.

 

The man hissed, “The fuck did you just call me, kid?” and Nathan was already preparing for the hit that his body knew was about to come.

 

But it never did.

 

“Nathan?” Someone called out to him, somewhere nearby. Nathan knew that voice. A new kind of fear, mixed with excitement and relief, flooded in through the drunken haze. On one hand, Nathan hadn’t realized how much he wanted to see a friendly face until he saw Mark Jefferson coming towards him, and he almost couldn’t resist the magnetic draw he felt pulling him towards his mentor, the urge to cling to him in this room full of strangers almost visceral. But Jefferson was pissed. He was glaring at the man who had at some point let go of Nathan’s wrist, but he kept shooting disappointed glances at Nathan, and the palpable judgement was doing a better job at making Nathan feel guilty than any ultimatum from his father ever could.

 

He watched in nervous silence, wondering why the hell Jefferson was even here in the first place, as the man pushed off the bar and stood up straight to face the intruder. His demeanor had changed with the involvement of another adult, and when he spoke to Jefferson he sounded more annoyed than angry. “And who the hell might you be?”

 

“That’s really none of your business,” Jefferson answered smoothly, but firm. He ignored the stranger for the most part, and focused on Nathan. “Pay for your drink and get up.”

 

Nathan did what he was told, following Jefferson towards the exit and out the door on command. It was humiliating, knowing how many people were watching him; he was a hot teenage mess, swaying and stumbling after an angry adult, occasionally grabbing onto Jefferson’s arm to steady himself.

 

The cold night air was sobering, and he finally had the sense to ask Jefferson why the hell he was there. He was met with a cold gaze that made him want to disappear.

 

“It’s a Friday night and I’m an adult with the legal right to be anywhere I want, Nathan. I think it’s more appropriate for you to explain why _you’re_ here.”

 

Nathan crossed his arms defensively, folding in on himself. He didn’t want to sound like a crybaby - didn’t want anyone thinking he couldn’t fend for his damn self - but he couldn’t lie to Mark Jefferson. “My dad was being a dick, I had to go _somewhere_. Is that a crime?”

 

“No, but underage drinking is. You’re not even eighteen, Nathan, what the hell are you thinking?”

 

“Who gives a shit how old I am, I know what I’m doing,” Nathan snapped back, some of his words getting slurred together, “The hell do you care, anyways?”

 

Jefferson looked offended. “I _care_ because you could get hurt-”

 

“M’ not gonna get hurt!”

 

Jefferson raised his voice loud enough to earn startled glances from the few waiting at the nearby bus stop, “Will you just stop talking and listen to me for one second?” Nathan pressed his lips together, forcing himself to stay quiet. “Thank you. Now as I was saying - I care because you could get hurt, Nathan. It’s illegal, and it’s unhealthy. I _am_ sorry about your father. I just wish you would have gone to a friend instead of fucking yourself up like this.”

 

Nathan stayed silent, staring at the ground. Jefferson must have taken pity on him, because the next thing he did was sigh and reach around Nathan’s shoulders, gently guiding him towards the small parking lot at the side of the building.

 

“Come on, let’s go,” he said, steadying Nathan on the way to the small black car. Once Nathan was settled in the front seat and Jefferson shut the driver’s side door, he looked over to assess the situation. “You really are drunk, aren’t you?”

 

Nathan scoffed, “S’not that bad, I can walk.”

 

“That man in there, was he bothering you?”

 

“Not really, asshole really thought he was gonna get laid. As fuckin’ if, his mustache was creepy as shit. No way I’d let his dick anywhere near me.”

 

Now it was Jefferson’s turn to look uncomfortable. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

 

The conversation dropped, but the silence wasn’t horrible. Nathan touched the corner of the window where it was starting to fog up, dragging his finger around to make thick squiggles on the glass. It wasn’t particularly warm in Jefferson’s car, but it was better than sitting at the bar or standing outside, and Nathan was starting to feel like he could fall asleep right there.

 

Eventually when Jefferson pulled his keys out and revved up the engine, heater blasting hot air into the small space, he looked at Nathan. “I assume you don’t want me to take you back to the estate?”

 

“Hell no,” Nathan shook his head.

 

“How about the dorms, then?”

 

He shook his head again. Plenty of people stayed on campus for the weekend - not everyone had family to go home to in Arcadia Bay - but he wasn’t ready to be alone and really face what had happened with Sean. His head was still foggy and his body felt heavy in his seat. Truthfully, he was content to stay right there for the rest of the night if Jefferson would let him. “Can’t I just...stay with you?”

 

“Nathan, I’m not sure if that’s-”

 

“C’mon, I won’t be any trouble, I swear. Just put me in the back seat or something, I’ll sleep for hours and you can do whatever you were already gonna do tonight.” He gave Jefferson the best puppy dog eyes he could manage.

 

Jefferson sighed and stared at Nathan for a moment, clearly trying to talk himself out of agreeing. But he’d never said no to Nathan before, not when Nathan needed him to say yes.

 

“Well, I _was_ going to have a light drink then go home and unpack the new lenses I ordered” -he chuckled when Nathan sat up a little straighter, always excited to hear about new camera equipment- “but I guess there’s no harm in showing off my toys and skipping the drink. You’ve had enough for the both of us.”

 

For the first time that night, Nathan was happy, and he fell asleep with his head against the window, feeling warm and at peace as Jefferson drove through the night.

 

When the car finally stopped and Nathan woke up, the first thing he noticed was that Mark Jefferson’s house was small, at least compared to Sean’s estate. But inside, Nathan felt like he finally had room to breathe. The decor reminded him of a classier version of his own room at Blackwell; black counters, white walls and flooring, and large-scale prints of Jefferson’s photos dating back to the mid-90s adorned almost every wall. Nathan sat on the couch, still not fully awake, and picked at the lint on a pillow while Jefferson brought out the boxes and a box cutter.

 

“What kinda lenses did you get?”

 

The older man sat down next to him, working at the tape on the first box. “Some of these are just backups, but this one,” he cut the last of the tape and put the blade down on the coffee table, “is the new Sigma.”

 

“It looks cool,” Nathan said as Jefferson took the solid black lens out. ‘Cool’ was putting it mildly - it was beautiful, but he could geek out over it in the morning when he had a little more energy.

 

Jefferson nodded, turning it over in his hands. “70-200 millimeters, 2.8 f-stop. I’d hand it to you for a closer look, but you’ll have to forgive me for not trusting you not to drop it right now.”

 

Nathan pouted, but it was smart not to trust his motor skills at the moment. If he couldn’t look at the lens for himself, though, it’d be nice to see what kind of images would come from it.  “Are you going to take some test shots tonight?

 

Jefferson looked at him strangely, a smile pulling at his lips before he said, “Well I’d need a model for that, wouldn’t I?” There was something in his dark eyes that made Nathan’s heart beat a little faster in anticipation. “Care to pose?”

 

It was something Nathan had thought about more than he’d care to admit. Posing for Mark Jefferson, getting to see himself how his idol saw him, for better or worse. He’d always been resigned to the fact that Jefferson only shot women - pretty women who looked nothing like him - but it’d still been a nice fantasy to distract himself from the general shitshow of his life. But if Jefferson was serious…

 

“I...I mean I - I don’t know how you want me to pose but. Okay. What do you...want me to do?”

 

Standing up from the couch with the new lens in his hand, Jefferson chuckled a little, “Whatever you want to do. We don’t need anything fancy for some trial shots, so we can stay in here. You probably wouldn’t appreciate walking around again so soon, anyway. I have to go get the camera set up, so sit tight.” And with that, the older man disappeared down the hall, leaving Nathan alone with nothing better to do than stare at the black and white and occasional color prints hanging around him.

 

If he could be even half as good a model as these women, maybe it would give Jefferson a reason to spend more time with Nathan than he already did. It was an exciting thought, but the more he compared himself to the models on the wall, the more he noticed that nudity was a trend in Jefferson’s work; lighting and staging would only do so much for Nathan, nothing could change the fact that he just didn’t have the look that the world-famous photographer wanted.

 

Suddenly, he was much more nervous about actually being in front of the camera than he’d been in all of his fantasies. He needed to loosen up, or the photos would never impress Jefferson.

 

Clumsily, Nathan pushed himself off the couch and tried not to trip on his way to the mini bar on the other side of the room. Several bottles had already been opened, so as quickly as he could, Nathan unscrewed the caps from some whiskey, vodka, and wine, and promptly took a swig from each, careful not to drink so much that the bottles _looked_ like they’d been touched. The warm buzz was already hitting him again as he made his way back to the couch, plopping down right where he’d been not long before Jefferson came back in, assembled camera in hand.

 

“Did you decide to stay on the couch?”

 

Nathan smiled, calm. The fresh shots would _really_ be hitting him in a few minutes. He wouldn’t have to worry about looking stiff and panicked in the pictures, now. “Yeah, for now at least. S’comfy here.”

 

That earned another chuckle, and Jefferson was already pointing the camera at him, taking a minute or two to look at some possible angles.

 

“Do you want me to like...smile or lay down or something?”

 

“Whatever feels natural for you.”

 

Nathan decided to pull the throw over his lap, clutching some of it to his chest to do something with his hands.

 

“That’s great, Nathan, good,” Jefferson said, almost talking to himself as the first camera shutter broke through the otherwise silent room. Nathan tried his best to breath into it, to look relaxed and natural as Jefferson moved to the side, trying another angle.

 

After the first two or three shots, Jefferson stood up straight to look at the pictures he’d taken.

 

“How are they?”

 

Jefferson wasn’t smiling, which was worrying and confusing, especially when he said, “Good. Nice and sharp.”

 

“Oh. That’s good.... Do I look okay?”

 

“You look...” Jefferson intensely appraised whatever photo was on the screen, “Very drunk.”

 

Nathan grimaced. He'd wanted to look relaxed, not trashed. “Shit. Sorry.”

 

“No, don’t be.” The response was more serious than Nathan expected, and he looked up in confusion. If it weren’t for the extra alcohol that was finally kicking in, he would have squirmed under the older man’s gaze. It was calculating. _Admiring_.

 

He'd seen the same look in Jefferson's eyes directed at the work of legends like Robert Frank or Dorothea Lange; his heart bloomed at the thought that Jefferson saw something just as captivating in him, but his throat tightened in anticipation for the moment the man found some unforgivable flaw and lost interest.

 

Jefferson just kept staring for a few moments before saying, “You look good, Nathan. Honest, inviting - almost like a… _provocative ingénue_. You have potential, you know that?”

 

“Oh. Uh…” Nathan had never seriously considered being a model. He’d always wanted Jefferson to take pictures of him, but behind the camera was still where he wanted to be. The praise was addictive, though, and he couldn’t ignore it. he clung to Jefferson’s every word, even when a part of him recognized that the comments had been more sexually charged than he should probably be okay with.

 

The air in the living room felt different, now. It no longer felt open and free. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was just Jefferson’s words, but Nathan felt hot in his jacket and his stomach was twisting. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but it felt like something was coming.

 

“What are you thinking about?”

 

What a loaded question to ask. Nathan wasn’t sure he knew how to answer. “Nothing, just. Can I see the pictures?”

 

“Of course,” Jefferson came around the coffee table and sat close to Nathan, holding the camera between them so Nathan could see the screen.

 

The pictures would look different on a bigger screen, and would probably look better if the lighting and background had been properly set up, but Jefferson wasn’t kidding. The quality was still excellent regardless of the image content; sharp details, flat field, good translation of colors - it was a good investment. But that wasn’t what Jefferson was looking at, he knew. Nathan struggled to focus on himself, embarrassed to see what he looked like on camera, but he forced himself to try to see what Jefferson saw.

 

“I dunno...I just look as crappy n’ gone as I feel. The hell’s _provocative_ about that?”

 

“Oh, Nathan, don’t be so modest. Look at yourself, look at your flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes.  Most sober models can only hope to mimic that look well enough to be tantalizing. You’re seeing past the camera.You’re...innocent.” There was silence as Nathan stared at the picture, beginning to see was Jefferson was talking about, but too captivated by the insight into his mentor’s mind to come up with anything to say. “Of course, the image would be much better if we’d taken in in the studio, but it’s good for a test shot.”

 

He carefully took the camera from Jefferson’s hands to get a better look at some of the details. A heavy hand rested on his shoulder, thumb pressing into the back of his neck.

 

“You’re awfully quiet. Is something on your mind? You never did tell me what happened with your father tonight.”

 

Nathan grimaced. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” Jefferson sighed like he expected Nathan to say as much, but he didn’t push the matter.

 

Nathan didn’t actually have any reason to keep looking at the picture, but he continued to stare at it in silence, reluctant to put it down and be forced to acknowledge that the older man’s hand was still on him, his thumb now rubbing Nathan’s neck like a sad excuse for a massage.

 

“You’re blushing.”

 

So much for ignoring it. He tried to sound casual when he said, “Probs just the alcohol. ‘M drunk, remember?” but his voice just sounded flat.

 

“Do you want me to stop?” Jefferson didn’t move his hand while he waited for Nathan to answer.

 

In all honestly, it did _feel_ nice - Nathan was just terrified of misjudging Jefferson’s intentions. He could feel it in his core that this was a critical moment for their relationship, and if he fucked this up, Jefferson might not want to see him again.

 

“No…I like it,” he admitted, hoping that would make the other happy.

 

It seemed to be the right response, because Jefferson smiled and moved his hand up to touch the hair on the back of Nathan’s head. His voice was soft and thick when he said, “You’re special, Nathan...strange...but a beautiful boy, all the same. I hated seeing that man at the bar treat you so roughly like that. Nobody in their right mind would be so careless with a pretty thing like you...I wish I could take pictures of you like the rest of my models.”

 

Nathan looked at Jefferson with wide, expectant eyes.

 

“Stand up,” Jefferson suddenly commanded. Nathan obeyed, heart pounding, trying to stay balanced as floor seemed to rock beneath him. “Take your jacket off. Shoes and pants too. Leave the underwear.” Nathan fumbled more than once, cursing under his breath when he needing to rest a hand on Jefferson’s knee a few times to stop himself from falling over while he pulled off his shoes and jeans.

 

Finally he stood before his mentor, stripped down to his socks and underwear and a T-shirt. Jefferson was looking him up and down, a hunger in his eyes that rivaled Nathan’s own desire to be wanted by the man sitting in front of him. There was no way he was misjudging Jefferson’s intentions now, and butterflies danced in his stomach at the thought that his idol Jefferson was actually interested in him and didn’t mind that Nathan was so young.

 

“I’ve never taken pictures with a male model before, but I can already tell you’ll be exquisite - You _will_ let me photograph you some more, won’t you?”

 

“Yeah...yeah, of course.”

 

“Good…” A moment of loaded silence. “Nathan?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Come here.”

 

Nathan mentally cringed at his own gracelessness as he practically collapsed onto Jefferson. He wondered if it seemed too desperate to crawl onto his teacher’s lap at the first command. Probably. Nathan didn’t really care. His mind was going blank and his body felt heavy again,a throwback to when he almost fell asleep in the car, as Jefferson kissed and bit at his neck, apparently not in the mood for taking it slow. Nathan didn’t really care about that either, was just grateful that Jefferson didn’t try to kiss him on the mouth - it would’ve just felt wrong.

 

The couch was soft under his bare knees, and the heat radiating from Jefferson’s chest made Nathan’s already flushed skin break out into a light sweat. He couldn’t hold in the soft sounds that escaped him as Jefferson found the sensitive areas around his throat. With every shaky moan that passed through his lips, the older man became more aggressive with his attention on those spots until Nathan was trembling on his lap, unable to think about damn thing other than the way Jefferson’s hard-on was rubbing against his ass.

 

It wasn’t until he felt Jefferson tugging at the waistband of his underwear did he regain some of his bearings as a panic started to creep in.

 

“Wait- wait, I don’t wanna…”

 

Jefferson let go, pulling back to look at Nathan. “What’s wrong?”

 

He tried to slow his ragged breathing without much luck. “ I think- I think I just wanna sleep. I don’t feel good.”

 

“That’s okay, we can stop,” Jefferson’s voice was still thick with arousal, but his words were sincere and calmed Nathan down just a little.He felt shitty for ruining the fun, but he wasn’t sure he could’ve stopped himself from puking if they didn’t stop when they did.

 

Jefferson helped Nathan up off the couch and led him to what looked like Jefferson’s own bedroom.

 

“I hope you don’t mind sharing the bed. I’m just not comfortable with letting you fall asleep without someone there to make sure you don’t throw up and choke.”

 

“S’fine, I don’t give a shit as long as it’s horizontal.”

 

He sat with his legs crossed and back against the headboard, trying to stop shaking while Jefferson went to the closet to change into some pajamas. Nathan would have appreciated the view if he weren’t so freaked out. What the hell was he even doing? Jefferson was his teacher, his mentor, a successful photographer that didn’t deserve to get sucked into Nathan’s bullshit. Nathan knew he couldn’t keep being so careless - he was going to get Jefferson in trouble. And if his father ever found out…

 

A new wave of shakes hit him, and he felt the beginnings of a headache creeping into his skull. Jefferson was beside him on the edge of the bed, touching his neck again, trying to calm him.

 

“Nathan, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me. What’s going on?” Nathan couldn’t respond, just shook his head, hoping in vain that Jefferson would get the message and leave it alone. “Are you upset by what we did on the couch? Are you nervous because you’ve never done this before?”

 

Nathan barked out a humorless laugh and pushed Jefferson’s hand away, “I haven’t been a _virgin_ for _years_ , old man. Now leave me alone.”

 

 _Please please please leave it alone_.

 

“ _Years_? Nathan, you’re only sixteen - who the hell were you sleeping with back then?”

 

“I said leave me the fuck alone, okay! I already told you, I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

It was the first time Nathan could remember seeing the arrogant Mark Jefferson unsure what to say. Jefferson was quiet for a moment, clearly putting together some pieces in his head. “Nathan-”

 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

 

“Well it’s pointless to try to hide it now, you’ve already put it out in the open.”

 

“I don’t. Want. To talk about it. What the fuck is so hard to understand about that?”

 

“ _Nathan_ , why are you being so difficult-?”

 

Jefferson didn’t get a chance to finish. Nathan couldn’t handle this conversation right now, and he was going to put an end to it one way or another. Those swigs from Jefferson’s mini bar must not have started to lose their effect yet, because Nathan barely even felt himself scoot around Jefferson and slide to his knees on the floor. He pulled Jefferson’s pajamas and underwear down and took the now-flaccid cock into his mouth before the older man could get another word in.

 

He looked up to watch Jefferson’s face while he sucked, waiting to see if he’d try to stop him. Jefferson made no move to push him away, just shook his head. “You really are a strange boy.”

 

Nathan didn’t answer. It was like a switch had been flipped and now he was going into overdrive, going down on Jefferson with an unexpected burst of determination. His headache was getting worse, but at least Jefferson wasn’t pushing anymore, too busy grabbing at Nathan’s hair and groaning out a string of curses to ask about anything serious again.

 

The minutes blurred together, and Nathan got so lost in the taste of slightly sweaty skin that he was caught off guard when Jefferson pulled him off and instructed him to get on his stomach on the bed.

 

He did as he was told, feeling a blankness wash over his thoughts as he rested his cheek on the thick comforter. He kept his arms folded in front of him and stared at the wall. His head felt light, like he could fall asleep right there even as Jefferson touched him.

 

Jefferson knelt on the bed next to Nathan’s legs and made quick work of yanking Nathan’s underwear down past his knees. Nathan couldn’t be bothered to kick them off the rest of the way; Jefferson would take them off himself if they became a problem. He could feel the bed shift as Jefferson leaned away for a second, and he heard the bedside drawer slide up and closed, then the snap of a bottle cap being opened.

 

He didn’t mind the fast pace; almost wished Jefferson would just hold him down and push inside him already. Still, he jolted and whined at the rough and slightly painful intrusion when Jefferson pushed in one slick finger, then another, in two swift movements. He’d dealt with worse, but Nathan couldn’t help the soft, “Ow,” that he mumbled out while Jefferson twisted and spread his fingers around rather impatiently.

 

“Sorry.” The apology sounded sincere, but Jefferson didn’t do much to slow down. He must’ve been impatient after being cock-blocked on the couch; Nathan felt bad about so whiny and dramatic.

 

Jefferson pushed the back of Nathan’s shirt up and rubbed lightly at the bare skin, drawing happier noises from Nathan as he finally started to loosen up. His earlier panic had tensed his muscles considerably, but it was passing, and with every rub down his spine and brush against his prostate, his body relaxed into the dead weight it’d been before.

 

When Jefferson deemed him ready, he patted Nathan’s ass and told him to get on his hands and knees. Nathan pushed himself up and did as he was told while Jefferson stood up momentarily to kick his pajama pants off onto the floor. He settled in behind Nathan, and Nathan could hear him uncapping the bottle of lube again.

 

Jefferson put one hand on Nathan’s hip and guided his dick with the other. When Nathan felt the tip push against him, he felt like his heart would beat out of his chest. Was the minimal preparation going to be enough? He hoped so - it would be humiliating to cry in front of his mentor in the middle of sex. He wanted to be perfect for him.

 

There wasn’t much time to worry about it, though, because as soon as Jefferson was lined up he began to push in, moving both of his hands to Nathan’s hips to pull him back against him.

 

Nathan wasn’t sure if he actually cried out or not. There was a ringing in his ears, the hum of a million nerves reacting to the intrusion, and his headache was still raging. But the pain was more distressing than unbearable. He could stand it if he forced himself to.

 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, you can take it, you’re okay,” Jefferson shushed, “You want this.”

 

And Nathan believed him. Despite the shit, there was _some_ good, distracting Nathan from the overwhelming urge to get away. The worst was over with, now _Mark Jefferson,_ his teacher, his mentor, his idol, was fucking _him_.

 

He wanted this, he told himself over and over through Jefferson’s rough thrusts, he wanted this, repeated it like a mantra until he felt his mind finally coaxing his body into enjoying it. The sensation was intense and was doing nothing to help him think any clearer.

 

While it felt infinitely better than anything his father had ever dished out on him, he still felt out of control, unable to hold back grunts and moans that were pushed out of him. Sweat was collecting on his flushed skin, making his hair stick to his forehead and shirt stick to his shoulders. Jefferson had to keep a bruising grip to stop his hands from slipping, and Nathan whined at how possessive it felt.

 

This wasn’t quite like the pleasure he was used to; his own cock had been entirely neglected, and he was fine with that. Being good for Jefferson was all he was concerned about. Nathan was almost surprised when he felt heat coiling in his stomach, growing tighter as Jefferson picked up the pace. He couldn’t honestly say that he felt _good_ , but Jefferson was using that soft, guttural voice on him, voicing how pretty Nathan was, how good he felt, and it was dizzying. He’d never thought he could get off on anal alone, but somehow it made sense that Jefferson would be capable of taking him apart so fast like this.

 

Or maybe it was just the fact that this was the longest someone he _wanted_ to sleep with had lasted, but Nathan wanted so badly to believe that there really was something special about the man he’d admired for so long.

 

And when Jefferson reached around to stroke him in time with each thrust, and used that _damn voice_ to coax Nathan so sweetly, “Come on, Nathan, cum for me,” Nathan couldn’t possibly disobey if he wanted to.

 

He’d do anything for this man, for as long as Jefferson would let him. And that, he hoped as he felt sleep overtaking him, would be for a very long time.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
